


No Stranger

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stranger came out of the night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Weekly Obbo prompt "Strangers in the Night" on the LJ Community Teaandswissroll.

Doyle gasped for air, heart racing, on his knees in the dark garden, before the body of the man who had tried to kill him. He _was_ dead? Doyle checked for a pulse, although he knew the man’s neck was broken. He had seemed to appear from out of nowhere. Doyle had been given scant seconds of warning, and that only by chance as he’d turned his head. What the fuck was going on? The R/T remained quiet. Had the raid happened? He’d heard no shots, but then he’d been banished to the periphery, still on limited action as he recovered from the bullet wounds. Cowley had only allowed it because he’d been desperate for men. “Doyle—perimeter,” he’d ordered, then turned away before Doyle had been able to answer. Bodie had kept his head down, tacitly supporting Cowley. Well. Doyle had proved his fitness, if not his ability to remain undetected.

He pushed to his feet, checked the R/T once again. It was switched to receive, but they were on radio silence until further orders. There must have been a delay, then. He looked around. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, although he still could only see indistinct shapes in the muted light of a crescent moon and stars. He hadn’t seen the face of the man he’d killed—a stranger who had stepped out of darkness to kill him. Doyle turned away, then walked a few steps down one of the paths leading to the house. He strained to hear anything from that direction, his hand clenched around the R/T, but there was nothing.

Until he heard a crack behind him, like a branch breaking underfoot. He whirled around, slid to the side, dropped the R/T and drew his gun in one fluid motion. Was that a shadow on the bushes? It was a man, moving quickly towards the body, towards him. “Stop!” He moved again even as he brought his gun hand up—point and fire, no need or ability to aim; he knew he’d hit his mark—while the man rushed on, almost on him, then bent to roll— Doyle jerked his arm to the side as he fired—

_Bodie!_

His breath caught in his throat, his heart hammered. The dark shape rolled, lunged to his feet. “For Christ’s sake, Doyle!”

Doyle breathed out, a rush of air leaving his body. He sank to his knees, closed his eyes.

“Ray?”

He’d yell at him soon. When he could. _Why the fuck did you rush at me?_ Oh Christ, oh Christ—thank God his body had been quicker to act than his brain. Quicker to recognise… Bodie’s hand gripped his shoulder—strong, alive. _Make a joke, do something, shrug it off_ — 

“I thought it was you. Lying…down on the job.” If Bodie was striving for a light tone, he failed. There was no substance to his voice, as if his throat was tight.

Doyle put a hand over Bodie’s, felt his fingers move, digging in to his shoulder. They stayed like that for a breath, two, until finally Doyle felt he might be able to speak. He might be able to move. He let go of Bodie’s hand and climbed to his feet. “Yeah, was having a nice kip when that one woke me up.” Doyle jerked his head towards the body.

“Rude.”

“Very. What the hell happened at the house?”

“All done. Smooth entry, no casualties, except for the villains.”

“Why didn’t anyone—?”

“We couldn’t raise you on the R/T.”

“Wha—?” He moved to where he thought he’d dropped the R/T, found it, pressed the button off and on. It was dead. “Fuck.”

“I came to find you.”

Bodie had followed him, was close behind him. There was something in his voice that held Doyle still. _Yeah, I saw you through the window, lying on the floor. Thought it was a bloody strange place to have a kip. Spilled the milk, too. Very messy._ “I killed him,” Doyle said. “Fought him off.”

“Brian will be pleased.”

Doyle turned. Bodie’s voice was back to normal. They could bury it, as they always did. _Make a joke, shrug it off, do_ something. He reached out, and when Bodie flinched, he knew he’d been right. He took Bodie’s hand in his, held it as he never had before. “It wasn’t me on the ground this time.”

For a long moment, Bodie didn’t move. When he did, it was to move closer, his hand still in Doyle’s. “You missed.”

“Recognised—” But he could say no more. Disaster had been averted by the slimmest of margins—a flicker of recognition and muscle memory. 

“First thing they taught us—don’t shoot your partner.”

Bodie had been a stranger to him once, but he knew him now—almost. “Save him instead.” Doyle leaned forward, closed the few inches that separated them, kissed Bodie. And when he tried to pull back, to give Bodie time and space, Bodie’s arms would’t let him go.

“Never again,” Bodie murmured against his skin. “Never again.”

When Doyle heard Bodie’s R/T beep, he ignored it. Bodie did as well. They were done.

The End  
November 2015


End file.
